


Rantep Kinkcembuary 2017

by Flazéda (peternurphy)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dreamlands, Forced Orgasm, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Spanking, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, but in december, noncon warning is really just to be safe, randolph is a huge fucking masochist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/Flaz%C3%A9da
Summary: So I wanted to do Kinktober, but there was no way I was gonna be able to do it in October. Therefore, I'm doing this in December. Using thelist from kinktober2017.tumblr.com, which will be chosen for each day is a ~~surprise~~. Also, these are unbeta'd and not heavily edited.





	1. The Fragment Shrine (spanking)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Spanking
> 
> In which Randolph Carter commits Dream crime and is punished for it.
> 
> This is the noncon warning chapter. Warning applies to anxiety abt the concept and nonconsensual spanking.

As Randolph stares into blackness and struggles in vain to remove himself from the A-frame, he wonders aloud in a soft voice: “Did I make a mistake somewhere?”

It started in what he would describe as a roadhouse just outside of Zar. He was sitting, sipping some kind of local liquor that tasted like paint thinner smelled (with an aftertaste, strangely enough, of celery) and trying not to wince too visibly. Randolph had heard rumors of steamships in Zar and wanted to see the anomalous technology for himself. Sure, it was a secret, but Randolph didn’t see why he couldn’t just break in and look for himself. 

He kept his head up, listening for anything that might indicate more knowledge than what he’d already gathered. Lucky enough, it wasn’t long before he heard something.

“I swear to the gods, I saw it out by Hanan-Kurt - right after all the goats had been freaking out. And let me tell you, it only got worse while it was there. I bet you there’s still bloodstains in the square.”

Randolph took his drink and moved over to the group of women, ignoring the amused chuckles and incredulous looks. _That_ wasn’t what he was after, by any means. “Saw what?”

“You know, the Fragment Shrine. Oh, but you’re…” The first woman smiled and snorted into her drink. “Not from here.” She shrugged. “But if you wanna go get yourself killed like all the other Dreamers, I’ll tell you about it.”

“It’s not like he’s gonna actually find it-”

She raised her hand. “It’s only been a few years since it started appearing. We call it the Fragment Shrine because that’s basically what it is - several cubes, right?” She set down her drink to gesture with her hands, as if she could demonstrate architecture with vague gestures. “All entirely reflective, and just attached to each other all hodgepodge. It stays for five days at the most, all the animals and locals go crazy, then it’s gone.”

“So where will it appear next?”

“I don’t know. Go find it, Dreamer - that’s what you people do, right?”

And he did. It was several nights, weeks contained within them, until he heard reports from a town close enough to his new place of residence in Zura of the Fragment Shrine. He set out at morning; by nightfall he stood under it.

He thought of Stonehenge - ripped out of the ground, reassembled at odd, impossible angles and held together by God knew what. He saw himself from each angle, he saw the sky transplanted onto the ground and the trees circling around each other. In some places the reflection of the sun had burned lines into the brush on the ground or into the trunks of trees. He kept his hand on something natural as he surveyed it from the outside.

And he kept his hand on something natural when he started to batter one of the lower walls with a large rock he found on the ground.

He didn’t even think it would break. But it did, shattering like any window and leaving a good sized hole for Randolph to climb through. 

The inside was, thankfully, pitch black. As he strayed from the first prism, the outside light grew fainter and fainter, until he had to walk with his right hand along the preternaturally smooth wall. At some points he found it hard to tell if his hand was still touching the wall. He tripped over furniture at times; he tried to examine it in the dark but his hands could only discern the vague silhouettes. When he came across something loose, he pocketed it. 

His eyes must have adjusted as he came to a hallway. It felt like he’d been walking longer than in the other rooms when he realized he was able to make out the edges where the floor met the walls. Randolph didn’t dare look up for a ceiling. He continued walking - the soles of his boots somehow making no sound against the floor. He tried stomping; the silence persisted. He sprinted for a moment - still no sound, apart from his breath. He hadn’t seen any segments this long from the outside.

Randolph stopped in the center of the hall and turned his head. Behind him looked exactly the same as ahead of him - so really, there was no other way to go but forward. He shrugged and removed a curio from his pocket. The red shard of something or other glittered in response to light stimuli that were not present; it compelled him to turn it over in his hands until they were covered in cuts. He walked, staring down at it as his feet stepped in front of each other, tugging his body down the corridor. 

Then the light stopped. Randolph was hit hard in the wrist, knocking the shard from his hand in complete silence. He didn’t fight as he was grabbed and maneuvered - only gasped as the wind was knocked from him when he was slammed, bent at the waist in a thirty degree album, over some structure. He started to push himself up; he found something around both his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he speaks out loud. “What is this place?” He asks. The only response he receives is a tugging on his shirt, then the loss of linen against his legs, replaced with cold air. He tenses. He’s hardly a virgin - but he can’t even see his assailant, and the cold fingertips that now press into his left cheek feel more like bone than flesh.

Fortunately or not, he realizes he’s not going to be taken _that_ way as he feels something long and thin across the length of his ass. Randolph is familiar enough with the switch from his childhood. Regardless, he starts to struggle and push against his bonds indignantly. He’s twenty years old now - an adult in all sense of the word, about to finish a degree, and has spent enough years in the Dreamlands to know how it operates. This is _entirely_ beneath him; the proper treatment for his crimes would be torture or death.

But he’s not about to say that to the assailant.

He relaxes into the bonds and waits for the punishment to begin. Or he tries - he finds himself pointing his toes, stretching out his fingers, trying to keep himself relaxed before the first-

He hears the whistling of the implement after he feels a sharp, direct line of pain across the top of his buttocks. Randolph can’t even cry out; he jerks as far forward as he can and winds himself against the frame when the bonds hold him back. He breathes heavily, as the second strike hits perhaps an inch below the first he finds himself able to yelp. The third is another inch below that, the fourth below that - each forming their own, separate centers of burning pain that Randolph can feel starting to radiate outwards. He starts counting down in his head - fifty seems like a normal amount to be given, so he would be at 44 remaining. The strokes have just passed the center of his ass.

As the assailant continues striking him with the switch, Randolph’s yells grow quiet and he grows as accustomed to the pain as he can. It’s not much, he still finds himself gasping and wincing and occasionally vocalizing as he’s hit. A sheen of tears forms over his eyes and his hands clench so hard that his nails push into his palms. He’s at the twelfth stroke just where his ass meets his thighs, his throat jumps to a high pitch as it hits and he feels almost as if his legs would be cut off from it. Above that line, the burning has started to bleed out around the cuts, like ink on bad paper. The slashes from the switch hold the most intense burning, the area between them throbs.

With all the pain, Randolph barely registers that his cock has gone hard. He only notices when, after that crucial stroke where his thighs started, the assailant stops and reaches between his legs to draw the _cold_ , skeletal fingers along the length. Randolph’s entire body spasms. Perhaps he’s going to be killed for this. He had committed the crime of entering without permission, now for this disrespect he’d be torn asunder. He’s already strapped to the frame - what more can he do but wait to die?

Instead, his burning cheeks are pulled apart and something is pressed against his entrance. His original guess was correct - but now, Randolph can’t feel upset or even concerned about this. He relaxes and pushes backwards against the potential intrusion. He’s ready to make up for what he’s done, he’s about to give the owner of this shrine the best sex he can give restrained like this. It presses inside of him and he whimpers happily, working the floor muscles to pull the assailant in. Randolph decides to ignore the disappointingly small girth; there’s no way he’s going to fall out of favor with this being.

Immediately, it goes for his prostate and he gasps. It doesn’t move - if the being isn’t thrusting into him, why would it just find the prostate and stay there without even stroking it? The only stimulation there is the vague pressure of something being held against it. Randolph starts moving as much as he can to derive some stimul-

There’s a hot jolt inside of him.

He shrieks and his entire body seizes.

His cock shoots onto the frame and begins to soften.

Randolph doesn’t get to process what happened. Instead, he gets rapid fire slashes, up from the bottom of his thighs to the first stroke, not distinguishable from each other and so fast he can’t count them. He screams and thrashes and the tears in his eyes start to fall over his face from the pain and the absolute burning. When his punisher reaches the top, it immediately starts to go back down. 

On the second trip down, he starts begging. “I’ll give back everything I took-” He sobs, to no response. “It’ll never happy again, I’m _sorry!_ ” The next strike to hit his thighs makes him lose his words, screaming incoherently and shaking. He has to be bleeding - there has to be broken skin, bruising, tissue damage… The desire to reach back and feel the damage makes him push his wrists against the bonds, until indents are likely left in his skin by the straps. Randolph doesn’t notice.

Halfway through the third trip back up, he stops screaming. His throat hurts too much to vocalize that much. Randolph lets himself go limp instead, taking ragged breaths and waiting for it to end.

Fortunately for him, it ends after the third trip. He breathes out a thank you - and then the backs of his calves receive a _hard_ stroke. He tries to kick up; his legs are held by their own straps. A second one is given right above that, it feels like it’s pulsing. The next three are spaced about an inch apart as well - is the same process going to be repeated there? He begins his begging and apologizing again.

 

The very final strike is on the thickest part of his calves. It’s harder than the rest; Randolph finds the energy from somewhere within himself to scream again. Then immediately, he’s released from the frame and pulled up. The skeletal hands grab him by the shoulders and spin him around. He finds himself facing a figure in the dark. It’s not illuminated but he can make out its shape, obscured by long black robes and with an empty, black space where there should have been a face. Through blurred vision, Randolph stares at his assailant.

Then he’s thrown through the black void behind him and wakes up in a friend’s apartment just off the Miskatonic University campus, lying on his throbbing ass and feeling still white-hot pain all the way up the backs of his legs. 

And sure enough, when he twists around to check, Randolph sees the innumerable welts raised out of his skin.


	2. The Road Through Leng (Dirty Talk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Ilek-Vad is _trying_ to hold a meeting with a clerical council. The Crawling Chaos has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The policy-babble probably is not super sense-making for what's going on, but oh well. that's not the focus of the fic.

“ _You wanna know what I’m going to do to you after this mind-shatteringly dull meeting, Randolph Carter?_ ”

Fitting enough, Randolph is speaking with one of the clerical councils when the Crawling Chaos whispers this to him in vulgar Aklo. He’s grown used to these interruptions. The best course of action is just to ignore them, so Randolph puts his hand in front of Nyarlathotep to quiet him. “As I was saying - Leng is still incredibly hostile. I’m sure it would be good to establish a direct route to Kadath, but as of now, there would be no way to justify sending people to even survey. It’s best for all parties to-”

“ _First things first, I’d make sure you couldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried._ ”

Randolph raises his voice. “It’s best for all parties to just leave it until they forget about that particular incident. It’s not as if we have a heavy military to send.”

“ _I wouldn’t even hurt you, I’d kneel before you and make you feel better than you ever have-_ ”

“If you have something to say, please say it so everyone can understand.” There’s a slim chance that the gentle scolding will embarrass Nyarlathotep enough to make him be quiet - or better yet, wait for Randolph outside of the meeting that was apparently boring him to tears.

“ _But I’ll make you suffer, too._ ”

Or not.

“What is he saying?” asks Ephal from across the table. There was still a general sense of nervousness at having the Crawling Chaos around in the palace - an entirely valid sense - but that anxiety only made Nyarlathotep’s petulant teasing worse. The mood of the room is rather uneasy.

“He’s only upset because he doesn’t want me to be busy. He doesn’t need to be here; I can kick him out if that’s what you need.”

“Yes, if you want me gone, just _say so_!” Says Nyarlathotep cheerfully, smiling and glancing around the room. 

“I’ll have a talk with him afterwards.”

“ _No you won’t, because I’ll shove something down your throat and grab your vocal chords so you can’t even scream. _”__

__“You’re being _incredibly_ impolite.”_ _

__“You’re being _incredibly_ impolite.”_ _

__Randolph is used to Nyarlathotep mimicking his voice to express disdain. The council clearly is not. “The point is, we should probably focus on appeasing the priests that think we should be challenging the Great Ones. You all are closer than I am - are there any projects that could replace that desire? Local cults that could be incorporated into the polity?”_ _

__“There are a few isolated Dagon worshippers by the coast, but maintaining peace with them is difficult enough as simple neighbors,” suggests Ephal._ _

__“Outreach to them could-”_ _

__“ _Think about me raking claws down your insides._ ”_ _

__Randolph does for a second, squeezing his pen to try to bring himself out of the fantasy. He wants to adjourn the meeting now - but at the same time, he refuses to give in. “ _One more time and you’ll be the one suffering.”__ _

___Nyarlathotep smiles - damn it, he must know that he’s affected Randolph. “I apologize for his behavior. Please continue, Ulo’ote.”_ _ _

___“Outreach to them to improve relations could give us another northern port. It still wouldn’t be direct, but it would be closer. That is, if we want our citizens heading that far north in the first place.”_ _ _

___“It’s their own responsibility if they want to,” says Randolph._ _ _

___“But do we want to facilitate it?”_ _ _

___He doesn’t have an answer to that. The question is complicated - but he’s still picturing what talons inside of him might look like; the look of bliss that Nyarlathotep would have while he tries and fails to vocalize. “ _You want to leave this thing more than I do, don’t you? You can’t answer these questions, all you can do is get in position and let me take over. You’re just a human slut, and you know it._ ” Nyarlathotep’s voice is entirely neutral, if quiet._ _ _

___“I don’t have an answer for that yet. Port control isn’t part of my duties - if there were a significant push for northern travel, you would have to go through the head admirals.”_ _ _

___Finally, Nyarlathotep speaks understandably to the group. “I think what Randolph is trying to say is: the next course of action isn’t going to be a road through Leng, but research into other projects that need to be done. That way, you could buy time for the perception of Ilek-Vad in Leng to change, and start moving through Leng when they don’t all hate you for your King’s actions in the past. Listening to you humans spend hours trying to tease this out is like having needles slowly driven through my eyes, I swear.” There’s a mumble of assent. “ _When you’re lying in bed, bleeding out and begging me to hurt you more, I’ll make you come so hard you forget who you are. Do you want that?_ ” _ _ _

___“Y-yes, that’s what I want,” says Randolph. “I mean - in a month, we can reconvene with what you have and determine what will be most feasible.”_ _ _

___“What about-”_ _ _

___“Meeting adjourned!” cries Nyarlathotep._ _ _

___“But-”_ _ _

___“The conference is over.”_ _ _

___And with glances to the beaming Crawling Chaos, the council files from the room._ _ _


	3. Introductions (Tentacle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I start to go out of order from the list, because....I felt like it. Anyway, enjoy.

When Nyarlathotep asks Randolph, “am I your first?”, Randolph doesn’t know how to react, and throws his cup of coffee at the wall. Fortunately, it’s the opposite wall from Nyarlathotep - he wouldn’t dare to ruin Nyarlathotep’s makeup. Still, Nyarlathotep’s painted eyes widen as he waves the coffee away with a flick of his wrist.

“You know about Harley,” says Randolph. “And-”

“And I saw you in the Dreamlands. Your first…. non-human...oid.”

Randolph flushes with his back to Nyarlathotep as he pours another cup of coffee. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he says. A ripple of pleased heat runs through the room. He sits across from Nyarlathotep and wraps his hands around the cup of coffee, forcing his shoulders down and his breath to still. It’s been enough time; he hasn’t been killed or anything near it. Terrifying as it is, Nyarlathotep has lived up to his veneer of charm during the months that they’ve been official. He sits now, smiling at Randolph and looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

“Not even the One-in-All?”

“How would I even-”

Nyarlathotep doesn’t even wait for him to finish before he leans in towards Randolph, eyes quite literally glowing. “Still, somebody like you _must_ have heard the rumors of humans who _take advantage_ of certain of our forms, hmm?” As he speaks, something pulls at the hem of Randolph’s robes. Randolph stares blankly at him. “You know - the stories you have to have heard in the Dreamlands, the fantasies played out in less tasteful writings - the jokes, Randolph Carter, _somebody_ must have made _some_ reference to you by now.” 

Still, Randolph looks at him, a barely calibrated brain trying to work through Nyarlathotep’s vagaries. He sips his coffee as he tries to process; it comes to nothing. “I don’t…”

“You have never once mentioned the fact that I have tentacles, and frankly, I’m offended.”

“Ah.”

He finishes the coffee as his interrogator stares at him, waiting for something more. Randolph doesn’t have anything more to say to him. If Nyarlathotep wanted to do that to him, it would be on him to just do it. “I didn’t think that I would have to say anything to you.” _And it isn’t as if I would ever just ask my partners like that,_ he finishes in his head. “If there were something that you had wanted to do, you would have taken the action, so to speak.”

“What I wanted was for you to say something to me. Instead, you were incredibly rude and kept everything to yourself. I hardly expected you to be so meek in sexual matters, but instead you shrink and leave me having to guess at how to please you. It seems you only take action when you know how it will vex me, and the very moment I began to want your insistence and infuriating persistence, you became polite and quiet.” Now Nyarlathotep pushes his chair away and positions himself on the table to grab Randolph’s face. “Do you want to consummate with my other forms, Randolph Carter?”

The fingers that press into Randolph’s cheeks feel hot enough to leave marks; in the eyes before him he sees glimpses of the Court. Nyarlathotep doesn’t even bother with breath, and Randolph somehow can’t inhale until he stammers out a quiet “Yes”. Then the circulation of air in the room (and blood in his body) returns, and Nyarlathotep loosens his grip.

“But now I have another problem!” Exclaims Nyarlathotep. Already, a thicker tentacle has found its way into Randolph’s left sleeve, wrapped around his arm up to his shoulder. He doesn’t remember when it got there, but it’s cool and smooth and somehow, he feels more relaxed with the steady pressure. “You won’t tell me what you want, and I have to assume the inverse. If I did something you didn’t want, you wouldn’t tell me.”

“That isn’t what inverse means,” says Randolph.

“Excuse me?”

“The inverse would be if I _did_ tell you what I did _not_ want, not if I didn’t-”

Another tentacle is pushed into Randolph’s mouth, and he decides he deserves it. “We can discuss your pedantic corrections _another time_ ,” Nyarlathotep hisses; he composes himself without removing the tentacle. “In any case, I have a solution to that little problem.” Randolph suddenly feels as if a dry, tiny worm is crawling up the left side of his face. When he tries to see it, he sees some dark shape. “It won’t hurt you - it will feel odd, however. Just relax and keep your eyes open, and…”

The worm, tendril, apparatus, reaches his eye and begins to gather itself in the inner corner. Randolph stares up at Nyarlathotep for some explanation as it slithers by where the tear duct would be. It doesn’t hurt him, but the feeling makes his back shift and his hands clench. His mouth is dry. “I need a way to know how you feel during this, do I not? Think of it as part of me inside of you, _just_ along the right curves of your brain to tell me how you really feel. And perhaps, partially as a punishment for being so reticent.”

The tip presses into the entrance its found, and Randolph pulls back into the chair and spasms with discomfort. Now Nyarlathotep is behind him, pressing his lips against Randolph’s cheek and pulling him to the couch. Randolph’s legs shake and drag him towards the floor. Despite the slim frame of the avatar, Nyarlathotep is the one who carries Randolph onto the couch. The worm is still barely through his eye. 

“If you want me to dissolve it, you have to _promise_ you’ll say everything that comes to you,” Nyarlathotep offers with a momentary decrease in size of the tentacle stuffing Randolph’s mouth. Randolph is dazed, feeling it push into him - but like everything else Nyarlathotep has done to him, it’s like nothing before. He swallows as he feels the head poke against his sinuses, like a fingertip poking and trying to get out of his skull, and vocalizes as he breathes.

“Don’t get rid of it-”

It moves faster, and Randolph shrieks embarrassingly before he loses its feeling somewhere behind his forehead. Nyarlathotep pulls him closer and rubs circles into his back. “Now you don’t have to worry about saying anything,” purrs Nyarlathotep. Randolph is held tight against him, feeling heat radiate towards him and pulling at Nyarlathotep’s clothes. Since the first tentacle had wrapped around Randolph’s arm he’d been hard; the worm had brought him back down, but now, so close to Nyarlathotep and with a few more tentacles pushing against him, he comes back. He continues to press his face against Nyarlathotep, breathing in a smell like sweet absinthe and something burning. Soon, he’s rubbing himself against Nyarlathotep’s soft linen robes and has to be pushed back.

“Finally I can play with you without having to worry about your little mind breaking!” Nyarlathotep says, tugging the robe off of Randolph’s body and replacing it with a mass of tentacles that seem to come from nowhere. Randolph doesn’t see where they would attach to Nyarlathotep’s body; but when he toys with them in his hand, Nyarlathotep has some response. He makes a motion with his thumb that causes Nyarlathotep’s eyes to flutter happily. Randolph likes how it feels as well, letting his finger slide around the smooth surface. The one in his mouth starts to expand again and he sucks on it gently.

Then he’s jerked up off of the couch by the tentacles around his arms. He shrieks; this time he tries to laugh around the gag in his mouth. He’s tossed around a bit before being held, upside down, directly in front of Nyarlathotep. He gets another kiss on the forehead from Nyarlathotep, before his legs are pulled apart and two thick tendrils wrap around the base of his cock and testes, before twisting in helices up to the tip and tightening. Randolph hisses and tries to pull out, but is held by all his limbs, and a thick set around his waist.

“I could also just leave you like this, until you _have_ to ask me,” says Nyarlathotep, drawing a finger down Randolph’s side. Randolph tries to shake his head; Nyarlathotep looks shocked. “I guess not. Aren’t you grateful I went through your eye? I know it must have been uncomfortable, but if you can’t speak…”

Randolph tries to say he is grateful as Nyarlathotep raises the palm of his hand - then drops it, laughing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? All you have to do is ask…”

There’s nothing in Randolph’s mouth again. Part of him misses having something to suck on - he wants it back. “Will you hit me?” He asks, weakly. His heart pounds more at having to ask for something in explicit terms than it is from being suspended like this. Then, weaker and at the highest possible pitch he thinks it can reach - “And will you- f-fuck me with- Nyarlathotep, I can’t possibly-”

The slap across his face makes his lips tingle and his ears ring. “With what?”

“With your-y-” He breaks into a whimper and his cock is tightened again. Randolph looks at Nyarlathotep, trying to beg him with a look. Instead, he gets hit again.

“I know what you want, Randolph Carter. What _I_ want, however, is for you to say it. Start from the beginning.”

“I want you to hit me,” repeats Randolph, and he is hit again - this time a slap to his ass that would have made him jump were he on the ground. “And I want you to fuck me with-”

“With…”

“With the-”

The tentacles around his waist start to slack - worse, the ones around his cock start to recede. “I want you to use your tentacles and fuck me-” says Randolph, and he pretends the voice that said those obscene words was someone else’s. Everything is tight again; paradoxically, he relaxes into Nyarlathotep’s grip. 

“ _Good_ human.”

It doesn’t take Nyarlathotep long to do what Randolph has asked. The first tendril pokes at his entrance gently; when Randolph tenses, it’s to tease him so he has to press harder into him. It finds its way inside of Randolph, then another along with it - soon, his walls are pushed just to that sweet spot where they start to protest against the pleasure center in his brain. He is allowed to arch his back, allowed to moan around the alien gag as the braided tentacles move slowly deeper into him. He feels them expanding inside of him, pushing at his stomach.

And sure enough, when he glances downwards, he sees a bulge at the lower end of his abdomen. The fullness makes him go limp and hum happily; the tentacles around his cock expand and contract in time with his breath. Nyarlathotep takes care of him perfectly, responding to every thought that moves through his brain with some new ministration. When Randolph’s back starts to complain, a new tentacle moves to support part of his body. When he aches for some stimulation against his prostate, three more tentacles find their way inside of him to add extra pressure there. 

He doesn’t even have to tell Nyarlathotep when he feels like he’s going to come. Something presses hard just in front of his hole and it suddenly ends. Randolph falls back into Nyarlathotep’s control, seeing his face in front of him and hearing some gentle words that hiss around his head. He thinks he’s been kissed; he isn’t quite sure. His mouth is certainly against something wet and soft and sweet that feels like it’s just in the right place as his breaths speed up and slow down in time with the pulsing tentacles. Randolph comes to realize that Nyarlathotep isn’t following his breaths, but rather that he’s following Nyarlathotep’s motions.

Nyarlathotep’s face pulls away and Randolph whines and pulls his arms towards him, only to be stopped by the tentacles. He’s forgotten how Nyarlathotep is taking care of him and starts to scream behind the gag, until his arms are released and Nyarlathotep lowers him and stands closer so Randolph can embrace and hold onto his partner. He’s slowly placed back on the couch with Nyarlathotep, on top of him and grabbing him tighter than he’s held anyone before.   
He’s delirious and incoherent as the pulse continues. If he were asked to identify what parts of his body were being stimulated, or even where the tentacles were, Randolph couldn’t answer. He runs his hands over Nyarlathotep’s body to try to center himself and fails miserably with another stronger series of pulses inside of him, weeping and falling on Nyarlathotep. Somewhere, he hears someone shushing him and asking him if he’s had too much yet, but those words are meaningless.

“I think it’s time…”

The pace of the pulses begins to increase. Randolph presses his face into Nyarlathotep’s neck and rocks against him in time, breathing with his voice and digging his nails into the soft flesh beneath him. His stomach feels warm; every muscle pulls around the tentacles. But it doesn’t hurt him. He can’t find where the tentacles are but he knows they must be deep inside of him.

The pulses around his cock and inside of him begin to alternate - when the pressure inside him slightly subsides and his cock is squeezed, he shrieks and grabs fistfuls of Nyarlathotep’s braids, rocking over him and being quietly comforted as the feeling, almost like the screaming of the Court, overtakes all of his senses.

He almost sees a burst of light as he comes across Nyarlathotep’s (now uncovered) chest, head being held in something swirling and incorporeal and listening to a pulse years away that slows down. Tentacles pull off; Randolph feels cold air and tries to shove himself closer to the intense warmth from Nyarlathotep’s avatar. He starts to ground himself with the avatar; silent as he hears sweet, condescending nothings. 

And somewhere, he hears a promise that this is barely an introduction.


End file.
